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ahWretch believ'd the Spouse of God in vain Confefod within the Slave of Love and Man.

El. to ab.





N thefe deep folitudes and awful cells,
Where heav'nly-penfive contemplation dwells,
And ever-mufing melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a Vestal's veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love!- From Abelard it came,
And Eloïfa yet muft kiss the name.

Dear fatal name! reft ever unreveal'd,
Nor pass these lips in holy filence feal'd;
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd Idea lies:
O write it not my hand-the name appears
Already written-wash it out, my tears!
In vain loft Eloïfa weeps and prays,




Her heart ftill dictates, and her hand obeys.

Relentless walls! whofe darkfome round contains

Repentant fighs, and voluntary pains:


Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn ;
Ye grots and caverns fhagg'd with horrid thorn! 20
Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
And pitying faints, whofe ftatues learn to weep!
Tho' cold like you, unmov'd and filent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.

All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor pray'rs nor fafts its stubborn pulse restrain,
Nor tears for ages taught to flow in vain.

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclofe,

That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever fad! for ever dear!

Still breath'd in fighs, still usher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gufhing eyes o'erflow,

Led thro' a fad variety of woe:

Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom,
Loft in a convent's folitary gloom!




There ftern Religion quench'd th'unwilling flame,
There dy'd the best of paffions, Love and Fame. 40
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join

Griefs to thy griefs, and echo fighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they?

Tears ftill are mine, and thofe I need not fpare, 45
Love but demands what elfe were shed in pray'r;


No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.
Then share thy pain, allow that fad relief;
Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief.
Heav'n firft taught letters for fome wretch's aid,
Some banifh'd lover, or fome captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
Warm from the foul, and faithful to its fires,
The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
Excufe the blush, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the foft intercourse from foul to foul,
And waft a figh from Indus to the Pole.



Thou know'ft how guiltless first I met thy flame, When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name; My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind, Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind. Thofe fmiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry ray, Shone sweetly lambent with celeftial day. Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n liften'd while you fung; 65 And truths divine came mended from that tongue. From lips like those what precept fail'd to move Too foon they taught me 'twas no fin to love : Back thro' the paths of pleafing fenfe I ran, Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man. Dim and remote the joys of faints I see; Nor envy them that heav'n I lofe for thee.



VER. 66. And truths divine, etc] He was her Preceptor in

Philofophy and Divinity.

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